The Red Book of Westmarch
by SinsofSoul
Summary: A collection of short stories dedicated the works and lore of J.R.R Tolkien.
1. Introduction

The Red Book of Westmarch

_Disclaimer: I do not own the rights of many of the characters, events, places, etc. used. They belong to J.R.R. Tolkien and his works. This was not made for profit, only for entertainment purposes._

_Warning: The stories within this collection may contain higher age themes, read at your own risk._

_Author's Note: Not all of the content that was created by Tolkien which was used may be correct chronologically, grammatically, or otherwise. These are my first writings, so try to go easy on me ;)_

Prologue

Elanor took a deep breath of the spring air as she tumbled onto the grass. Though she was already the age of forty-one, she still had the habits she bore when she was a petite hobbit child. Every spring, she and her father Samwise, would take strolls around the Shire, to see the sights of their homeland. Elanor loved the Shire, and could seldom become weary of its simplistic wonders. Little rivers and bridges, green woods and rich harvest; she smiled fondly at these memories.

Elanor spread out her body upon the gentle grass and closed her eyes. The sunlight and slight breeze swept over her like so many times before. She imagined her father who sat at his wooden desk in Bag End, writing in the large red book. The Red Book of Westmarch it was called and it contained many volumes of lore and the adventures of famous heroes. Those heroes included the legendary Bilbo Baggins, his nephew Frodo Baggins, and even her father Samwise Gamgee!

Her parents often told her the downfall of the Dark Lord Sauron and the destruction of his ring due to the efforts of the fellowship that carried its burdens. Elanor loved those tales the best, because they were the stories that were true and really mattered. Yet, still this day, she shivered to think of what terror and dread, the Dark Lord cursed Middle-Earth with. Her father eventually explained the origin of her name, which was taken from the sun-star flower of Lothlórien.

Elanor opened her eyes and ceased her reminiscing as her husband Fastred exited their home with a creak of the door. She leapt up and swiftly cleaned her blue day dress of grass blades and moist soil before coming to meet him. Along the way, she swiped the pollen off her golden curls and fair toned face. Nearly a decade ago, they were wed after falling in love during the stretched days of blissful summer. His full name was Fastred Fairbairn of Greenholm and they dwelled in peace together for many years. Four years after their marriage, Fastred was declared the Warden of Westmarch by the Thain, Peregrin Took at the request of her father. Peregrin, or locally known as Pippin to the elders such Master Meriadoc, was a companion out of the nine who went with Frodo to destroy the ring. Elanor enjoyed his company at their meetings for he was a quite lively hobbit and a rouser of trouble when he was younger which they both shared in common. After Fastred's new position was official, they moved to the Undertowers located at the Tower Hills. Soon after, she became pregnant and gave birth to two children. Now they lived in tranquility here.

Elanor greeted Fastred with a kiss as she twirled up to him. His mop of brown hair shook as he attempted to be rid of the vestiges of sleep.

"Where are you going, my love?" she asked inquisitively.

"Ah, I must go to Michel Delving to meet your father and discuss with him the state of our land here among other affairs," he replied with a grin.

"I could have sworn you had done this some time ago, must you leave again so soon!" she complained.

Fastred chuckled and said, "That was over two months ago, my fair Elanor; you always lose track of time wherever you are."

"I can't help it, it's always a nuance of mine; no wonder my mother was always so angry with me when I was late to events!" Elanor moaned.

"I'm quite sure most of the time you were late, because of the time we spent together," Fastred snickered devilishly.

Elanor sighed, "I dearly wish I could join you, but the children cannot be forgotten of course. I would just love to see the Shire and Hobbiton again."

"How about next time you can go and I'll take care of the kids or we could all go together as a family. We all haven't had a trip there as a whole for quite a while."

"I shall consider it a deal; maybe we can go to celebrate the anniversary of Frodo's and Bilbo's birthday at Bag End!"

Bag End had been the home to all the Bagginses. Famous figures like Bilbo, Frodo, and eventually Sam came to reside there. She remembered the bright wooden halls, the clear windows, the comely fireplace, and so many other things she cherished about it.

"Well I must depart now, otherwise I shall be tardy as you ever are," Fastred spoke as he kissed her on her hand and forehead.

"Don't forget to give my love to my mother and father!" Elanor warned.

"I shall not, my love. Though I'm sure Miss Rose and Master Samwise are as happy as ever," he answered.

"Make sure the children are well when I come back!"

"You know I always do Fastred!"

At that point, Fastred had mounted their mahogany pony, Bill who was named after her own father's steed. Bill whinnied and resettled as he felt the gingerly touch of his owner. He waved back at her as Bill trotted on at a gentle, but steady pace. Elanor, waved in response, but as soon as his silhouette left the horizon cast by the high sun, she turned away. She began making her way back to the Undertowers, their home. It was a series of tunnels akin to which most Hobbits had, but it was quite beautiful from the exterior and was comfortable and lavish on the inside. Elanor was in no rush for her younglings could behave themselves for a little bit, so she took her time to gaze at the lush fields and bright sky as she passed by.

Elanor came up to the large circular door to the Undertowers near noon. She twisted the brass knob and the green entry made way for her. As always, everything their family kept was in a neat and orderly fashion due to her constant maintenance. Elanor chided Fastred on his unorganized manner even before they were wed. She shook her head in humor to think of those times. She moved to the dining room where a group of groceries were placed. Elanor brought these to the storeroom so they couldn't spoil while she did other errands. When that was completed, she made a mental list of tasks that needed to be finished. _Clean rooms, done. Respond to letters, done. Tend to the garden, done. Kindle the fire in the living room; still needs doing. _Elanor set off to the small shed in the main room where the firewood and brooms were placed. Looking through the windows along the way, she realized that the sky began to grow gloomy. Storm clouds gathered in the sky, cutting off the source of sunshine. Now it seemed like the joyful morning she had just earlier didn't happen at all. With haste, she retrieved the firewood and set it down in the allotted spot for it. Elanor fetched the tinderbox and soon enough, a crackling fire was in the midst of the shadows provided by the brooding clouds. _What shall I do now, she thought. _Steadily, rain began to fall onto the stone pavement and muffled patters could be heard in the halls of the hobbit burrows.

_Well, I cannot go outside anymore and all of the chores are done._ Suddenly, Elanor had a grand idea. She searched for the book, the Red Book. She had recalled that her father had lent it to her several weeks ago. She found it lying on her desk because she read it late at night when the children and Fastred were asleep. It was a guilty pleasure of hers, but she did not give any mind to it. Elanor picked up the book and brought it to the living room. She gave a broad grin as she reclined in a small leather chair. The Red Book of Westmarch was one of the things she held closest to her heart throughout her life. Her fingers danced across the red casing and flipped through the well-cared pages written by famous hobbits.

"Elfstan, Fíriel, come hither to me!" Elanor shouted. With the pounding of feet and sounds of giggling her children came to her tumbling over each other. Elfstan was seven years old while Fíriel was four. The two were inseparable and constantly played with each other since they were barely old enough to walk. Elanor noticed a resemblance of such a relationship between her and her own brother Frodo. _Oh how we wrestled and argued. _She felt tears well in her eyes in remembrance. She was brought back into reality when her children ran up to her with gleaming blue eyes and beaming smiles.

"Hello mother!" they exclaimed in unison.

"Good afternoon my loves, though it is quite bad outside," she explained, "come here and take a seat."

"What for mother?" inquired Elfstan.

"The day is no longer fair for play, but it is good for another thing…" she began.

Fíriel recognized the book in her hands and enthusiastically cried, "You're going to read us stories!"

"Right you are my dear, it is from the book I read as a child as well," Elanor said.

The two flopped to the floor, but reassembled themselves to then sit upright and listen to her words attentively. Elanor fondled the book and like a thousand times before she opened the book with a gentle motion and began to recount stories of old times and new. The fire roared and blazed long into the night as it appeared that even the land and animals listened to her. Tales of many heroes, adventures, and the wonders of the world began to unravel as she spoke aloud.


	2. The Fate Spinner

The Fate Spinner

_Disclaimer: I do not own the rights of many of the characters, events, places, etc. used. They belong to J.R.R. Tolkien and his works. This was not made for profit, only for entertainment purposes._

_Warning: The stories within this collection may contain higher age themes, read at your own risk._

Vairë drowned out the echo of the laments as she went down the Halls of Mandos. She perceived the cries and heart shattering chants along the way. Even after dwelling in these halls for so many ages, she could never resist the urge to pity the poor souls that ended up here. The Eldar, the waning Children of Ilúvatar, were brought here after their deaths. They were immortal, but not in every sense of the word. By the fate of battle, their lives would cease; the flickering candle that gave them life would be extinguished. Vairë eyes filled with tears as she thought of the horrible machinations of Arda that would end one's life. However, the fate of mortals was unknown even to her, for only her husband Mandos and Manwë knew their destinies. Their deaths were caused through the devilry and devastation of Melkor and Sauron. The vile abominations they concocted only aspired to murder and plunder until all was lost.

Vairë gazed upon the walls as she walked and saw her own work. Tapestries, quilts, and webs that told the story of Arda and Aman. They were alien and incomprehensible to the Children of Ilúvatar, but she saw them as clear as radiant day. Unbidden, memories came flooding back to her, the lamps, the trees, Anor and Ithil. Vairë inhaled deep breaths as her vision passed as swiftly as it came. She supported herself upon a column of expert masonry. These visions gave her the apparently astounding gifts of foresight and hindsight, but it seemed like a curse to her. All the pain and suffering that the peoples of Eä have experienced resonated within her. Every day, her reality was distorted and fused with events that have passed and those to still transpire. Yet, that was her duty; to write history before it is uncovered and few of the Valar could truly understand her weaves.

Vairë came to the small wooden door at the end of the Halls of Mandos. She turned the opaque iron knob and entered the room like so many times before. Inside, baskets and piles of fabric were dispersed in caches around the square room. It was obscure, so she lit a lamp upon a small desk. It glowed dully and revealed the finely woven, but unfinished tapestry adjacent to it. Vairë pulled out a worn chair, sat by the desk, and stretched her fingers in preparation. She found a petite sewing needle and bolts of colorful thread in the contents of the desk and retrieved them. She set them down on the worn desk after taking the tapestry gingerly into her lap. Vairë deftly took the needle in her hand as she placed a line of fabric in the loop and tied it into a fine knot. Vairë left her hands to work as she calmly shut her eyes.

_Now it is time._

Vairë opened her eyes and she saw trees. Great trees of majestic measure, but she saw a shade of malice deep in some of them. Gloom had seeped into the cracks of the large forest. It was silent, except for the muffled shuffling of animals. Yet, deep in the heart of the forest, she saw light. Her vision blurred and became lucid again as a stronghold of elves greeted her. It was latent, but it was beautiful. Vairë saw a peaceful king; a king of wise counsel and prolonged longevity. He wore a circlet of autumn berries to mimic the season and its grace. However, the vision shifted to a new individual, another elf. He was young and animated compared to the Eldar king, but they seemed to resemble each other. The elf wore garments of lush green and was intricately lined with spun silver and gold. He explored the depths of the forest in solitude, but in content. He caught a falling leaf in his hand, but did not crush it; he held it tenderly and smiled. It was a green leaf; such a simple thing, but of great symbolism. Animals came from their habitats in the woods to meet him and he welcomed them with stark delight. They did not falter in trepidation within the vicinity of his well crafted bow at his side. They knew they would come to no harm. A rustle of the breeze swept through the trees and the elf gawked at the sky as leaves of various hues began to descend like the falls of Rauros.

Vairë came to a new place; a vast mountain that has been shaken with past grievances. It was lone, but it stood erect as if empowered by its isolation. Her vision panned to the hollow caverns within the mountain and she identified the sound of hammers. A great forge belched fire as short beings worked incessantly beside it. Vairë recognized them as the adopted Children of Ilúvatar, the sons of Aulë .The small cave fluctuated with light as the conflagration of the forge dimmed and swelled. A dwarf of youth tended to a tool in the murk of the flames. He toiled tirelessly, but with true passion. Using tongs, he withdrew the tool and tempered it within cool waters in a trough at his workplace. Steam congested the air and the dwarf pulled it out eagerly. Disregarding any peril, he grasped it with both hands, and the dwarf held up a keen battle axe. The smith grinned with satisfaction. His peers took note of his achievement and congratulated him for his effort and patience. The dwarf was warmed with pride from the praise and held his beard high. Soon though, went back to his labors, but this time it was a helm he was fashioning. The forge roared and the blazing fire pulsed long into the night.

Vairë was abruptly plunged into a warzone fraught with peril and bloodshed. Vile creatures; orcs, infested the ruins of a once glorious city. A tide of black swords, fell axes, and crude bows met its match as a valiant force of men faced them. Grim and weary they readied their exhausted bodies for battle once more. Although, one man was not cowed by the large army of pillaging and bloodthirsty orcs. This man was tall and stout; a competent captain of the ebbing men under his wing. He wore a white tree upon his breast and knew no fear against any opponent. The two factions joined in battle and the reunion was gruesome. The men of the white tree wielded swords, shields, and mighty bows with an unmatched degree of skill, but they would not last. The orcs outnumbered them and although they were dull witted, they would soon overwhelm the men with a wave of flesh. Suddenly, an ear piercing horn blast broke the sounds of battle. The captain sprung into the fight with vigor and a shout that would deal fright to even the sturdiest of warriors. He brandished his sword and hewed the orcs mercilessly. His foes fell to his powerful strokes and none could breach the parries of his impenetrable shield. The captain laughed at their futile attempts to slay him. Their useless attacks only drove him to fight harder. Vairë glimpsed into his heart, and saw that even though he lived upon the thrill of war, he still had a true heart. The orcs were sluggishly repulsed back by the charge of the captain. The remaining men were inspired by their leader's bravery and advanced with him. As the fatalities of the orcs amounted, the men's adversaries retreated from the ruins of the city. The captain raised his notched sword in victory and shouted with triumph. His men followed in suit as the captain displayed a flag of the white tree. He struck it through the stone pavement as the vision altered.

Vairë watched the sun rise as a figure rode in the horizon. The figure kept a long carven staff at its side. As the sunlight glimmered, the face of the figure was revealed. He took the look of a man that has grown with years of wisdom and experience. The man had a long beard of silver and gray that complimented his appearance. He wore a wrinkly hat with a long point which was gray along with his weather stained robes. The horse that bore him was bowed with fatigue and drenched in perspiration. The man had journeyed long and at haste, but Vairë knew he was always in this condition. He was thought as a meddler in affairs, but he was required to be one. Beneath his stoic countenance was a hero that many did not know of. This man was not who he seemed, despite his semblance. Vairë sensed this, and realized that his gait was similar to someone she had known once. Finally, he came before a flotilla of evergreen trees and dismounted from his steed. He took the horse by the nape of its neck and guided it through them as if he had done this with prior experience. Although weary, the horse was fond of the man, and followed him without hesitation. The two came before a set of cascading falls and behind it, an impregnable, elegant fortress.

As the sun rose to its apex before the fortress, it came to its end in just a moment in fields of gold. A camp was prepared for a night's rest and only a mat of cloth was set for sleep. There was a sole individual occupying this camp and he was quiet as the night crept up. The stars glinted brightly and Ithil was pale as ever. The person, another man, kindled a sizzling fire from a store of driftwood. He sat in vigilance, constantly guarding his possessions and searching for signs of enemies. His face was shrouded by a hood and no mirth lied in him. The man gazed into the fire, as if searching for a symbol contained in the flames. Vairë, through intuition and far sight, knew he was of noble birth, but grim in nature. His heart was clouded by troubles and pains, but there was joy veiled there too. In there was an unquenchable love for his friends, his family, and someone that he would always remember. At that aspect came his true strength and will to struggle to seize victory. He wasn't a mere foot soldier, but something far more magnificent. The man had an aura of leadership and royalty that shone as a beacon for those to follow. Vairë knew he was meant for great ordeals whether he acknowledged it or not.

The vision turned to green fields and homes that were in the ground. A land that was foreign to Vairë was now displayed right before her. Dwelling in that land were small people. Were they children? No they were not in adolescence, for they were adults. They were not dwarves, nor would they ever be akin to dwarves. Nay did they hearken to metals and crafts of the earth. Nor did they have the unyielding mindset and hefty build of dwarves. As she scrutinized them, she concluded that they were adorers of trees, little rivers, and caretakers of vibrant plants, rich soil, and the other simplistic prospects of life. The vision surged into the country even deeper into its details. In a comely tavern, in a hill, sat four companions bound by friendship. They were flamboyant and young, unaware of evils of the world. Vairë felt their undoubted love for their land and homes. She was heartened to see such a folk. The four small people prattled on about their endeavors that day as they drank their ale. Though these ones were simple, inside them lay courage, loyalty, honor, and love. These emotions brought their race together and they lived cohesively. Each of the four was special in their own ways. One was inquisitive, the other a leader. Another was adventurous and lover of plants, and there was one who was the most unique of all. He had dark brown hair, a fair face, and a cleft in his chin. This one was appreciative of the cultures of other races. He was knowledgeable beyond his comrades; clear minded and intelligent. He was alike his friends and not so simultaneously. In his eyes, Vairë discovered a prophecy; a prophecy that would change the fate of Arda and Aman forever. The friends appeared hazy and she felt her grip on the clarity of the vision fading.

_No, not now. NO! He is the one; he is the bearer of-_

Vairë opened her eyes; she was back in the room, in the Halls of Mandos. She glanced down to her hands. They held the tapestry which she had just completed judging by the ache in her fingers. The tapestry was composed of a dark crimson, but the center of it, a visual was woven of a certain unusual prospect. In the stitches of it were rings; three sets of them and one that was at the apotheosis of them all. They each bore its own ostentation and beauty, though some seemed tainted in an odd way. A set of three rings were the fairest to her; pure and pleasant. However, the lone one grabbed her attention. It was a band of untarnished gold that instigated her desire to possess it. It was luminescent and gorgeous in its simplicity, unlike the other rings. Vairë at first thought it was harmless, but behind the exterior, she saw something terrible and cruel. She saw a darkness that she had only ever seen once. It was undiluted corruption at its core, and it penetrated her body and mind with fear. Vairë crumpled the tapestry in her arms and went forth from the room in great haste. Vairë needed to bring this omen to Manwë at once. These tidings and doings could alter the very fabric of the universe and she feared how it could end.


End file.
